


(my love) leave yourself behind.

by abovethethroat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Self-Harm, Sad, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovethethroat/pseuds/abovethethroat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking back, they all can’t believe that none of them saw it coming sooner, before it was too late and everything came crashing down over them so suddenly. Not one warning was given.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(my love) leave yourself behind.

**_My love, leave yourself behind  
_** **_Beat inside me, leave you blind_ **

****

**_My love, you have found peace  
_** **_You were searching for release_ **

****

**_You gave it all  
_** **_Into the call_ **

 

If you asked, he wouldn’t be able to tell you how this came about; the fatigue, the hopelessness, the overwhelming feeling of _not wanting to be here_. He doesn’t understand, though, how the lads still bear to be around him now that he has lost that spark he once was known for.

 Darkness consumes his whole being completely, and his four bandmates are painfully aware of it. The sadness and pain radiates from him – he doesn’t shine anymore. But none of them stop hoping that _maybe today will be different, maybe we’ll get a glimpse of him without the covers pulled up to his nose._ They keep hoping, but they all know, somewhere deep down, that _today_ is never _that day_.

 All four of them have taken their friend’s spiral into misery equally as bad, but none of them can pinpoint what spurred it – _was it the long work-days and the lack of sleep? Or maybe he was just too dedicated and it all fired back at him? Was he given too little space?_

The broken boy can hear his mates discussing the matter through his bedroom door, but he can’t be bothered to climb out of bed, open the door and, as politely as he can given his constant bad mood and the depression, tell them to just _shut the fuck up_ because _nothing matters anymore_. So what if he’s overworked and stressed out? It’s not like he’d be any happier sitting on the couch, pretending not to notice how they all look at him with pity in their eyes. The only difference would be that he’d feel cold and terribly exposed without his warm, cozy blanket he’s spent months wrapped up in.

 

**_You took a chance  
And you took the fall for us_ **

 

At Bootcamp, he was willing to put his trust in those cheeky lads – he knew that even if the career as musicians they all hoped to achieve never took off, he’d at least found new, great friends. Everything felt like it was meant to be – the fans were so unbelievably supportive (as well as their family and friends from back home), the press didn’t bash the newly-formed boyband, the gigs they played were mind-blowing, and when the X Factor tour ended, that invisible bubble of naive protection burst, and it was over all-too soon.

 Not that any of the boys knew that at the time, though. But looking back, they all can’t believe that _none of them saw it coming sooner_ , before it was too late and everything came crashing down over them so suddenly. Not one warning was given.

 

 

 **_You came thoughtfully  
_ ** **_Loved me faithfully_ **

After the _Red or Black_ performance, that’s when their eyes were opened to what the life as a public figure in the spotlight really looks like. Everyone can’t love you, that’s simply not possible. When people attacked the poor lad with the curls and the dimples, the five of them understood the importance of growing thick skin to protect themselves from the vicious words. One certain young man decided that he didn’t want the same thing that happened to his best mate happening to him, so he decided to be the best he could ever be – _all the time_.

 

 **_You taught me honor  
_** **_You did it for me_ **

 

Maybe _this_ was where things got a little out of hand? He made it his mission to- what was it he was trying to do, really? He can’t remember, not now. He woke them up extra early so they could squeeze in a little extra rehearsal time; color-matched their outfits as much as possible; cleaned up after his friends and told them off when they were acting like zoo animals. It was all quite exhausting, really. But he didn’t care that he burned himself out – because _it was all for a good cause_ , wasn’t it?

He kept the other boys in check so that no one would be able to find anything to pick on. At least that’s what he told himself, when really, all he wanted was to forget about how scared of not being good enough he was.

It all seems a little bit silly now, looking back on it. Instead of numbing himself with too much work, why couldn’t he just have told everyone how he felt? Oh yeah – he was scared of that, too. What if they would have called him a _pussy_ and kicked him out of the band? Highly unlikely, but in his mind it was a very realistic scenario.

 

 **_Tonight  
_** **_You will sleep for good_ **

 

When he finally snapped, it was a normal, boring Tuesday. His head was spinning – he felt nauseous, even. The lack of food and sleep will do that to you. He was in the flat they (himself and the other boys) shared, staring at himself in the reflective surface of the induction stove. _Wrong_ , was all he could think to himself. _This looks so wrong_. He tugged at the ends of his quiffed hair, messing up the little slope that the hairspray had helped create earlier that day. The bags under his eyes were a deep purple, not even concealer could have hidden them if he had cared at all about looking somewhat decent and tried that. Running a hand over his chin, he could feel a light stubble coming on – he hadn’t shaved in _far too long_ for his own taste.

Another thing he could feel coming on was the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, the same one he would later come to know so well. _Snap out of it_ , he told himself. _No one will love me unless I_ snap out _of it_. He stood there just staring at his faulty features in the make-shift mirror until he heard the front door open. _Zayn and Harry_. He tore his gaze away from the stove and took out three mugs, spoons and tea bags.

The two boys entered the kitchen just as he poured water into the kettle and started heating it up. They greeted him with a _hey_ and one _hello_ , but he didn’t feel like talking. _Not today_. So he just gave them a faint nod as a response, asking, _tea, anyone?_

After they all sat down around the kitchen island with their steaming hot mugs of tea, both Zayn and Harry started their usual bickering about which superhero was the best and coolest, but _he_ just kept quiet, watched his two friends having the time of their lives. _Lads?_ Their eyes snapped up, really taking in the pained expression the boy in front of them held. _You okay, mate?_

He could feel the mug starting to shake in his too-tight grip, Yorkshire tea spilling out over the edge, finally landing on the counter top below him. A hand was immediately extended to steady his. _I think- I think…maybe not?_ he said moments later, not sure if it sounded like a straight answer or more of a question. He put his face in his shaky hands and took a few deep breaths, hoped it would still his nausea – if only a little bit. It didn’t really matter. He just wanted it gone.

 _Gone…_ he mused. That’s when it hit him. _Gone – I want it_ gone _!_ He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this sooner. _Of course._ This would surely solve all of his problems. _Right?_

He shot up from the bar stool, startling his friends. _Holy shit! You scared m-! Wait, where are you going?_ He didn’t let Harry finish, he just dashed through the kitchen and into the nearest bathroom. He could see himself more clearly in the mirror than in the stove – _duh_ – and he almost gasped when he realized how _completely and utterly shit_ everything about his own reflection was. For a second, he almost began to question if this was what he _really wanted_ , but then he came to his senses. _Of course_ it was. Grabbing the clippers he swiftly dug up from his pile of toiletries – clumsily knocking over various other items as he did so – and leaned against the sink for a moment to keep the pounding in his head in check and avoid throwing up all over _everything_.

When he felt ready, he pressed the _on_ button and listened as the voices on the other side of the closed and locked door yelling _oh my god, what are you doing? What’s that_ sound _? Come on, whatever it is – stop it, please! You’re scaring us, here!_ got louder and the pleading more frequent.

He didn’t give _a fuck_ , he decided, and dragged the clippers in a long swipe across his scalp. When the first locks of his hair fell to the cool tile floor, he smirked – the adrenaline rush this was giving him was unbelievable. _Yes. This is definitely_ it _. Perfect._ When his head was completely clean-shaven ( _no, it’s a buzz-cut_ , he decided) a few minutes later, he turned the device off – much to Harry and Zayn’s relief.

 _What the fuck? What have you_ done _?_ was what he was met with when stepping out of the bathroom. _Cut my hair_ , he responded, as if this was something he did every single day (he definitely didn’t).  Zayn grabbed his arm and stopped him from walking out on them. _No, you_ shaved your head _, dumbass!_ he replied. _I know_ , he said matter-of-factly as he yanked his arm out of Zayn’s grip.

Walking back into the kitchen, he didn’t know what he was feeling. He had imagined that he would feel much better after getting rid of that _ski slope_ on top of his head, _but he didn’t_. He sat down on the same stool as before, and put his hands back around his untouched tea mug. _Cold_ – just like he was feeling inside.

After about thirty minutes of staring at the wall on the other side of the room, unable to really _focus_ on anything in his vision, he decided that _now that’s enough_ and took a packet of Advil out from _wherever it is that they keep the pills_ in this flat. He popped one out of the foil container and downed it with a big gulp of his cooled Yorkshire tea. He could tell that the brief rush of adrenaline had now left his body – he was suddenly a bit drowsy. _Nap-time_ , he thought to himself.

 _Hey, what’s_ going on _? Where are you going_ now _?_ met his ears. He didn’t want any company. Not right now; _just give me some space for a while, okay? I’m only going to bed – I feel a bit tired._ The boy with the brown, curly locks backed away, but not before giving away a hint of fear and concern with his eyes. When his conflicted friend disappeared behind the bedroom door and closed it, Harry went straight to the lounge, where Zayn was sitting, a frown on his face, feet on the coffee table. He sat down next to the half-Pakistani boy, who removed his shoes from the shiny (although slightly stained) surface after Harry sternly said _feet – off._ They sat there in silence for a few moments, until Zayn broke the silence (and started a long, serious conversation) with _I’m concerned about him_.

Maybe three hours later, the distraught boy awoke on the other side of the bedroom door, not really remembering any of his previous actions that same day. All he knew was that he felt like shit, _why?_ He unfolded the blanket from his half-naked body and groaned. _Still cold. Very, very cold._ He went over to his dresser, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. _Something’s different._ But when he pulled the marine blue sweater over his head, he remembered. _Fuck fuck fuck! Please tell me I didn’t do what I think I did!_ He slowly moved his hand over his scalp, and _no no this can’t happen!_ He shoved at his stack of books that was placed on the end of his desk, sending them over the edge, scattering around his feet. He then picked up various items and slammed them down to the floor, as well. He had never had any anger issues (he was, in fact, the most calm out of all the boys), but now he was _fucking mental_.

He made his way over to the full-body mirror, and let out a loud, ugly sob. Before he knew it, his right fist collided with (what used to be) his bedroom mirror, sending shattered splinters flying through the room with a loud smash – and some shards nestled their sharp edges into the skin surrounding his knuckles. He let out a yelp when his brain finally connected the dots _and he felt the pain_. His skin felt damp, so he brought his hands up to his face to wipe the sweat away – only resulting in him smearing a ridiculous amount of blood off onto his cheek.

With his mind in a foggy haze from the intense pain in his hand _and_ mind, he managed to – albeit slowly – gain enough courage to exit his destroyed room and face his mates who had heard everything and would surely want to know what all the commotion was about. As he was halfway to the lounge, he heard Louis’ voice ringing through the silence. His name was called, followed by _is that you? What was that noise?_

With the sobs racking through his tired body, he rounded the corner to face his mates. He didn’t dare to look directly at any of them, but he guessed they looked something like deer caught in headlights. Before any of the boys got a chance to raise their voice, he spoke, himself. _What’s wrong with me?_ They had all realized at this point that the boy standing before them was someone completely different than the person he had been mere days ago. The boy they knew had been put to sleep, he was now dead and gone. _This wasn’t_ _Liam._

 

 **_You will wait for me  
_** **_My love_ **

 

A light knock on the door startles him from his uncomfortable sleep. _But then again, what’s really_ comfortable _these days?_ he thinks to himself as someone enters his room with another tray. _Breakfast_. They do this every morning – try to coax him out of bed with their English muffins and jam and ten-thousand different kinds of tea and (occasionally) waffles and pancakes. _Liam,_ a soft voice sings. _Time to get up._ He doesn’t really understand why they are still trying – he’s been curled up in this ball of misery for _months_ now, without any improvement whatsoever.

Liam just pulls the blanket higher up in an attempt to cover his face as _the same someone_ parts the blinds and light seeps into the room and soaks them both. He – _Louis_ – sits down at the edge of the bed and he can literally see the childish hope fading from his friend’s eyes when he ignores both the tray and Louis’ presence. _It’s one of_ those _days, today, huh?_ Louis sighs (although it’s mostly to himself, because they all know that Liam never talks anymore). He lets out a sob and tries to hide his tears under the blanket and choke down the sound he’s about to make, but fails.

Of course, Louis notices this and says _shit, I’m sorry, Li. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything, okay? Please don’t cry, you know we hate to see you like this._ He reaches out and wipes away a stray tear from the poor boy’s cheek. Liam shudders as he can feel the heat radiate from Lou’s hand – and when that hand pulls away, he feels useless and ashamed, _as always_. Maybe it’s the fact that he just lays in bed all day (every day) while the other boys coddle him, even though he never responds (and they have all _seen him_ in this terrible state, too) – or maybe it’s because he just hasn’t been _touched_ in so long. He can’t really blame anyone other than himself when it comes to that, since he pulls the blanket higher up when he senses any living creature as close as _outside of his room_.

  _Are you_ sure _you don’t want me to wash the sheets? Or change your jammies?_ Louis offers. _No,_ Liam thinks as he shakes his head lightly. He doesn’t want that _today either_. Lou mumbles something along the lines of _it was worth a shot_ as he exits the room and leaves Liam alone again – _just the way he likes it_ (that’s what he’s so desperately telling himself, anyway).

When Lou joins the other lads in the kitchen, they are busy cleaning up the mess after baking _those damn English muffins_ , and he knows that if Li knew anything about what they really _do_ to make him responsive, he would feel even worse about himself. Because the boys are all aware of the fact that Liam never was one to enjoy it when others did any work for him.

Zayn walks up to him and gives him a big, warming hug. He knows that _this won’t fix anything_ , but _you can never give too many hugs_ he figures. _Take a deep breath, okay, buddy? He’ll come around eventually, he h-_ he tells Louis – although he cuts the sentence short.His eyes flicker out to the two others in the room (Niall and Harry) but he doesn’t dare to say the last part out loud; _he has to._

 

 **_My love, leave yourself behind  
_** **_Beat inside me, leave you blind_ **

 

Liam wakes up in the dead of night when someone shakes him violently. _Niall_. Liam is too slow this time – Ni has the sheets ripped away from his fragile, shivering body before he has the time to even _blink_ , and he is left feeling vulnerable and naked (even though he _isn’t_ ). _This has to stop_ , the blond Irishman simply says. _Do you want to know why I’m in your room at_ fucking three o’clock _in the morning, mate?_ Liam doesn’t look very likely to respond – _no shock there_ , Niall thinks to himself – so he continues. _You must’ve been having a nightmare, because you were crying and thrashing like crazy in your sleep._ The boy looks up with big, sad brown eyes into worried blue ones. This really makes his heart ache; seeing Liam _in so much pain_.

 _Look…we are worried sick about you, mate. We haven’t heard you say a single word in months, and this is probably the first time in just as long that you’ve even_ looked _at any of us!_ Liam lowers his gaze and shuts his eyes again, silently praying that _some higher power_ _will magically put the blanket back in bed_. He doesn’t want any of the boys to worry about him – he just wants to be left alone. He can feel the weight of the bed shifting, and then Niall is laying his head down next to him, on the edge of the pillow. Soft arms wrap gently around his torso, and he can feel the older lad’s body gently pressing into his back.

Liam doesn’t know if he should be appalled by this or not, but he can’t help but think that _this isn’t half as bad as I imagined physical contact would be_ as his friend rubs gentle circles and patterns onto his shoulder. _We really need to talk. All of us._ He shudders lightly as this is whispered in his ear. He starts to squirm a bit in Niall’s grip – he most definitely _doesn’t feel like talking about it_. Ni quickly says _sorry sorry sorry_ and rubs Liam’s arm, careful not to brush over the lines that mark him there. _Let’s just stay like this for a while, alright, mate?_

 

 **_My love, look what you can do  
_** **_I am mending, I'll be with you_ **

 

When Niall joins Zayn, Louis and Harry in one of the others’ bedrooms, he doesn’t make much of an effort to hide the tears streaming down his face. _What’s wrong, Nialler?_ and _is Liam okay?_ greets him in the doorway, along with three pairs of dull eyes. He doesn’t trust his voice, so it comes out as a mere whisper. _Nialler, we can’t hear you, speak up. Is_ _he okay?_ Taking a deep, unsteady breath, he croaks out _he let me touch him_ and suddenly the room is filled with sobs and floods of salty tears that just won’t stop. _I peeled that blanket away from him and held him._ The lads can’t believe it – weeks and weeks and _weeks_ have passed since they last saw Liam not being curled up in a sad ball in his dark bedroom; without a horrid mix of dried tears and deep purple bags under his eyes. 

None of them understand what it was exactly that set Liam off – he’d spent all of those late nights for over a year just keeping his hawk eyes plastered onto his bandmates, making sure that they wouldn’t wreck the flat after having one too many drinks, and successfully stayed away from the alcohol himself. Because _he was the responsible one_. He always thought of the consequences before acting. _What changed that?_

Liam’s mother has been calling twice every day for God knows how long (since her son got _bad_ , anyway), but she never comes down to visit the boys in their London flat – they won’t let her. They just have to tell her in the kindest way possible that _no, Karen, there has been absolutely no progress since you called six hours ago. He doesn’t want any company._ Liam feels like a horrible monster each time he wordlessly declines his family, but he just can’t bring himself to _care_. Because _nothing matters anymore_ in his mind.

It’s around ten o’clock at night when Zayn goes to check up on Liam. The sheets are soaked, and he feels the panic rise rapidly in his throat when _he isn’t lying in his bed_. Because he remembers what had happened the last time they found the bed empty, _the holy blanket_ discarded on the floor. He rushes to that same bathroom and lets out a sigh of relief when he finds Liam curled up on the tiles with his arms wrapped around his pyjama clad legs. _What happened?_ He asks, crouches down next to his friend, and Liam feels like this is the only thing anyone ever says around here anymore, but whispers _the bed_ as a response, and he immediately feels bad that he only causes trouble for everyone around him, but _maybe the fog isn’t as thick anymore?_ Zayn feels his eyebrows knit together lightly. _I noticed that we need to change the sheets, yes. Do you mind telling me why?_ Li lets out a sniffle and goes a little bit red. Capturing him in a tight embrace, Zayn continues with _did you just really have to go, or did you have one of those special kinds of dreams? Either way, you don’t have to be ashamed – at all. It happens to the best of us._

He takes a moment to _really feel everything_ , and it still hurts. _A lot_. He isn’t used to being babied by his mates – he’s usually the one to baby them. Or _was_. These days, he’s not really sure _what’s_ going on anymore. _What’cha thinking about?_ interrupts his train of thought. He clears his throat for the first time in forever, and that’s about as long as it’s been since he’s used his voice, too. _It feels strange, unnatural_ he says with a raspy tone. _You taking care of me, I mean._ I _should be the one to do that._

 _Hey, look at me, Li_ Zayn says gently and pats his back. _You’re not in a good place right now, and that means that the lads and me will do whatever it takes for you to bounce back, okay?_ Liam nods. A new pair of hands grazes over his shoulders, and as he looks up, his eyes meet Harry’s. _Please tell me he hasn’t done it again_ he says, almost on the verge of tears. _No, Harry, he hasn’t._ Zayn pulls Liam’s pyjamas up a bit, baring a small flash of pale skin. _Look – no need to worry. I went in to check on him, and the bed was empty. He wet it, by the way._ This has Liam embarrassed all over again, though, and he hides behind his knees. _Don’t worry about it, I’ll deal with that._

Not soon after Harry’s left the room, Liam stands up carefully while holding onto the edges of the sink. _I’m okay, thanks_ he whispers as he’s almost about to lose his balance. Zayn’s hands graze his back lightly as he tries to steady Liam, and gives a _yeah?_ in return. _Yeah._

 

 **_I know you're pleased to go  
_** **_I won't relieve this, love_ **

 

When the fog finally starts to lift _for real_ , Liam is sprawled out on a couch in the living room, surrounded by a sea of pillows, blankets and _some other useless shit_ as he probably would say if he were feeling fine and dandy. He isn’t sure if he’s necessarily still _in that place_ , but he has an inkling that he might be on the slow road back to ‘normal’ ( _whatever that is_ ).  That never-ending sense of fatigue is still there and it prevents him from doing anything, but he now feels a little more willing to _live_. That’s why – when he one day gets up on his wobbly feet and drags himself into the kitchen to make some tea – Harry nearly jumps out of his skin. He’s the only one at home except for Liam at the moment, and isn’t expecting the boy with the dark bags under his eyes to be _anywhere but the couch_. He gasps in fear when Li’s silhouette comes into his view. _Liam, what are you doing up? I didn’t think you’d be…_ he trails off, not really sure where he was going with that sentence nor how to end it. Harry takes in his slouchy posture as Liam sits down on a stool and leans his elbows against the hard surface of the kitchen island. Liam used to be so meticulous and precise, this isn’t like him. But Harry knows that nothing about Liamis like _Liam_ anymore.

 _I’ll do it_ breaks the silence.

 

 **_Now I am strong, you gave me all  
_****_You gave all you had, and now_**  

 

Those few words make Harry’s heart all but burst with relief (but also a great amount of sadness, because who wants to have to send their ‘brother’ to regular appointments with a shrink, _really?_ ). The lads have been trying to coax Liam into agreeing for weeks without any success, but now he’s seemingly changed his mind. _Why?_ Harry asks. He just shrugs and says _dunno. Figured that you’ve all done so much for me while I’ve been lying here like an invalid, so the least I can do is go to those bloody appointments._ Harry is still at a loss for words (and it’s probably a first, too).

The truth is, that Liam is tired of pretending. What he’s pretending to be, he doesn’t really know anymore. And talking to the boys about it just seems pointless – they’re no professionals, they wouldn’t be able to help him in the way that he needs, but they’re good huggers, _that’s for sure_. He wants someone he doesn’t have any _connection_ to; someone he doesn’t have to deal with everyday; someone who _isn’t really in his life_. Although it sounds very intimidating and scary to him, Liam is painfully aware of the fact that _that_ is exactly what he needs to feel like himself again. When Louis, Zayn and Niall come home (eight giant mugs of tea later) and find Liam sitting in that same position as Harry found him, they all tackle him with hugs and cuddles and whatnot – and Liam feels _right_.

Weeks and a fair amount of visits to his therapist later, Liam finds himself propped up on the kitchen counter, scribbling lazily in pen on the doodle pad next to the landline while calling the familiar number to his house back in Wolverhampton. As someone picks up on the other end, he feels his breath hitch in his dry throat. It’s just been _so long_. He doesn’t get the chance to even say hello before his mother’s soft voice can be heard through the phone. _Just tell me this: will I ever_ get back my son _? Oh god…_ He hears a sniffle and some light shuffling when she grabs a paper tissue to dry her eyes. He can feel himself starting to crumble once again – he’s just caused _so much pain_ to everyone around him and he doesn’t know if he can handle _knowing about it_. He clears his throat in an attempt to get rid of any traces that he’s started crying and simply says _hi mommy_ in a small voice – he doesn’t know if he can go on without breaking down completely.  When the words _I’ve missed my little baby_ drift into his ears, he lets it all go and sobs into the phone. His band mates come rushing to see if he’s been hurt, but they stop in the doorway and give him the space he needs – this is the first time he’s been in contact with his family since it got bad.  
Liam sends a grateful glance their way, and among all of this tangled chaos in his mind, there’s only one thing he’s really sure of now; 

**_I am home._ **


End file.
